Joe leaned on the crutch Cassie had made him. "Me? What about you? The wounded men are almost all gone. I'm on the next boat. You're coming, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes, I'm coming—on one of the next boats." She dropped two canvas bags at his feet and handed him one of her two muskets. "I've got two more bags and a cooking pot. Wait right here."
Retrieving the last of her belongings, Cassie gave them to Joe for safekeeping and then made her way to the place where the wounded men had been housed to make sure everyone was out.
"Cassie, thank God you're here." one of the surgeons called from a back room. "I need some help."
She entered the room, tugging her hat from her head to see the surgeon leaning over an unconscious patient. "What can I do for you, sir?" Her stomach churned at the sight of the man's open chest.
"The lantern. Can you hold it for me? I've got to stop this bleeding or we're going to lose him. Someone's botched him up."
Cassie shed the water-soaked blanket from her shoulders and ran to pick up the lantern on the table. "Here, sir?"
"That's good. How's the evacuation going?" He worked as he spoke, his nimble fingers deep within the man's chest.
"They're still moving." she answered. "They were loading men and cannon when I was down on the shore."
"You should have gone with them, Cassie." The surgeon picked up a threaded needle to restitch the wound. "Your husband will have my head if he hears I've delayed you."
"You didn't delay me." She held the lantern higher as he moved to the other side of the table. "I came on my own. There's still plenty of time as long as the wind holds up."
By the time Cassie left the hospital, the camp was nearly empty. She was amazed to see just how thorough the army had been. Nothing had been left behind save a few hopelessly rusted cannons. Hurrying down to the beach, Cassie tied her blanket like a cloak, pulling her hat down to ward off the rain that still poured. She squinted, trying to make out the faces as she searched for Devon. Had he already crossed the river? Making her way to the beach, she stood at the water's edge watching the small craft come and go in either direction. Through the blinding rain John Glover's men and Israel Hutchinson's 27th Massachusetts Regiment from Salem sculled back time and time again to unload passengers and supplies and make their way back across the two-mile stretch of water. Without these seafarers, the Continental Army could never have done it.
A brawl broke out as men panicked, shoving to get aboard a small boat, and Cassie spotted Devon breaking it up. "Enough men, there is time and room for everyone." His voice carried in the wind and Cassie sighed with relief. Even if he wasn't speaking to her, she liked him in sight where she knew he was safe.
When the next rickety wooden boat pulled ashore, Cassie started for it. There were only a few men left on the beach and the wharves now. This would be the last trip. Just as she went to swing her leg over the side, someone caught her shoulder.
"I thought you'd gone long ago." Devon spun her around, catching her shoulders.
Rain ran down the tip of Cassie's nose, dropping off the end. "I'm going now." She stared at him through the darkness. His uniform was soaked, the plume of his hat drooping over his haggard face. She was pleased to see that he'd been sleeping no better than she.
"That's right, you're getting on this boat." He stepped over the side, picking her up and over. "Right here where I can keep my eye on you."
His hand felt warm against her rain-soaked skin and she smiled beneath her heat. At least she'd be at his side for a while.
Several more men with supplies and crates of ammunition climbed in, and the soldier dressed in the uniform of the 27th Massachusetts pushed off. Cassie watched over the stern of the boat as they left the shore. Behind her she caught a glimpse of a very tall cloaked man coming down the steps at the wharf. One of the blue-garbed Marbleheads was leading their commander in chief to the last vessel crossing the river.
Cassie sat back in the boat. The rain was still falling, but not so heavily, the fog drifting in and out of patches across the East River. She leaned against Devon's knee to keep from being rocked out of the boat. She shook her head in amazement. Who'd have ever thought they could do it? Move a green army of this size across a river beneath the enemy's nose with no one seeing it . . . hearing it? A newfound pride swelled in her chest. Wouldn't Howe be white hot in the morning to find them gone? Cassie laughed, leaning against Devon for warmth as she pulled her blanket over her head.
The constant motion of the small skiff made Cassie drowsy as she relaxed beneath her blanket, her back pressed against the warmth of Devon's leg. She didn't wake until she heard the splintering of wood and the screams of men as they went overboard.
Suddenly the cold, black water was closing over head. Devon! Devon, her mind screamed as she struggled to surface. Just above, she hit something hard, something that was keeping her from getting to the surface. The boat! When she had fallen overboard, she must have slipped under the boat.
Lungs burning, Cassie struggled to release herself from the confines of the old blanket she'd been wrapped in. She scrambled blindly in the murky water, trying to get from beneath the sinking boat. Her mind dulled and her limbs began to relax as she realized, somewhere in the back of her foggy mind, that she was drowning. The water slipped easily down her throat and she ceased struggling as an odd acceptance took hold.
Then suddenly she felt a grasp and she was being propelled through the water . . . up . . . toward the surface. She heard voices far in the distance as she felt her head break the surface of the water. She tried to will her limbs to move, to swim, but they refused to obey. Nothing seemed real as she felt herself being hauled over the side of a boat. For a brief, fleeting second she heard Devon's voice. "Cassie!" he called as he lowered his mouth to hers and then there was nothing.
"Cassie! Cassie!" Devon pleaded as he pressed his mouth to hers, trying to breathe the life back into her. Holding her in his lap he turned her over on his knees and pushed on her back. Water poured from her mouth in response and he rolled her back over, forcing air into her lungs again.
"We gotta keep moving." someone called." before we get caught on this water like ducks on a pond."
Devon nodded in response. They'd lost all the ammunition and one man on their boat when another skiff had hit them in the fog. If only the boats hadn't been so dilapidated! Devon leaned to press his mouth to Cassie's lips again. Please let her live, he begged silently.
As if in answer to his prayers, Cassie choked and the night air rushed through her body, filling her lungs. Kissing her ashen cheek, Devon held her tightly against his wet coat, brushing away the hair that clung to her face. Her eyelids fluttered and he thought he heard her murmur his name.
"Shshsh," he hushed, rocking her in his arms. He swept the hair off her forehead to see a nasty bruise just beginning to color her pale flesh. She must have been hit by the boat going over, Devon thought as he clutched her quaking body against him. Leaning over the boat, he spotted the far shore of Manhattan and the men sprinkled across the beach moving supplies. They had made it. The Continental Army had managed to escape against unsurmountable odds. Devon sighed, drawing Cassie's shivering body closer. He couldn't bear to think what the odds on his wife would be if he didn't get her warm and dry.
Sometime near dawn Cassie woke to find herself on a cot in a tent. Memories of crossing the East River in the dark of night flooded her mind when she found Devon slumped on the ground, asleep, his head resting on the cot.
She smiled in the dim light, reaching to run a hand through his raven hair. The lines that creased his face at the corners of his mouth and eyes told her he had kept vigil over her all night.
Devon started at her touch, lifting his head from her side. "Cassie?" His voice was choked with relief. "You're all right?" He took her hand in his, getting to his knees.
She smiled. "I'm all right, love. You saved me. I'd have drowned." Her eyes caressed his weary face.
"You remember?" He leaned ov
er to brush her forehead with his hand, amazed to find her skin cool to the touch.
"I remember. I was sinking, tangled in the blanket. I couldn't get from beneath the boat." Her voice was barely a whisper as he leaned to brush his lips against hers. "I felt you bring me up. I heard your voice. Sweetest voice I've ever heard." She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to hers.
"Ah, Cassie. Don't you see what a folly this is." He dropped a feather-light kiss on the end of her nose, then her cheek, then the other. "I almost lost you, girl."
Cassie's pulse quickened as she strained to meet his lips. His kiss was hard and demanding . . . a kiss of desperation. He ran his hands through her hair, pressing her deeper into the cot. "God, what would I do without you." he murmured, pulling away to stare into the pools of her green eyes, clouded with rising desire.
"You'll not lose me." she returned running her hands over the hard, flat muscles of his chest. Her eyes drifted shut as she guided his mouth to hers. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll never leave you, love."
Suddenly Devon stiffened, straightening up. "What do you mean?" All tenderness was gone from his voice. "I said, what do you mean?" he bellowed when she made no reply.
Cassie's bottom lip trembled, tears stinging her eyes. "I'm not going back to Marshview. I'm not leaving you. My place is here with you."
He pulled his arms from hers as if he'd been stung by a mad hornet. "You're not wanted." he replied coldly, getting to his feet. "If you are my wife, you're going home where a wife belongs."
Cassie sat up, slipping the blanket off that covered her. "You can't mean that."
Devon's face was frighteningly void of emotion. "I do not jest in such matters." He moved to the door of the tent, raising the flap. "The choice is yours, my sweet." he called over his shoulder.
Chapter Eighteen
As the days of September passed and October came with its crisp mornings and falling leaves, Cassie fell into a routine as Washington's army retreated north slowly, giving up more of New York each day. The British pressed on with a slow deliberation, taking the eastern shore and moving inland. Skirmishes erupted daily, with the rebel army winning few but managing to remain intact. Life was hard for Cassie, being so near Devon without having contact with him, but it was bearable. She kept herself busy with the wounded, managing occasionally to get a taste of minor confrontations, and she waited for a sign of change from her husband.
It all seemed so silly to her. Cassie laughed, climbing higher in the apple tree. How could Devon ignore her like this, day after day, week after week? In the first days that the army started making their retreat, she had made several attempts to reconcile with him, but he'd refused coldly. His only solution was for her to pack up and return to Marshview and she wouldn't do it. She couldn't. Her conscience wouldn't allow it.
Cassie shook a branch and apples fell like raindrops. She had found the tree two days ago and convinced Mordecai to come help her pick apples for the men. Food was often scarce, and they'd be a welcome sight baking in the embers of campfires tonight.
"Ouch! Damnation, woman!" Mordecai called from below. "What a way for a war hero to die. Struck by a woman's apple." He leaned over and continued picking up the fruit that had fallen to the ground.
Cassie laughed, her voice echoing in the tree. "God, it's beautiful up here, Mordecai. You ought to see it." She tucked her skirt between her legs and climbed higher, ducking and dodging the sprawling branches. "You must be able to see the whole world from here!"
Mordecai shook his head good-naturedly. "I told you, woman—"
"I said, don't call me that." she interrupted, slinging a rotten apple at him.
He ducked. "I told you before, Cassie O'Flynn Marsh, I'm no climber. I'd do anything in the world for you, my little apple blossom, but I'll not climb a ladder, nor a mast, nor an apple tree, not even for you." He tossed his apples into an old basket, one after the other.
Cassie giggled, leaning to shake a branch that was heavy with apples. Mordecai had been her saving grace in the days that followed their trek from Manhattan. Somehow he had managed to befriend her while still remaining on good terms with Devon. Without Mordecai, she'd have given in and gone to Dover long ago.
She looked out over the trees and meadows of the county, swinging one leg over a branch to make a seat. "Beautiful." she whispered, inhaling the heady aroma of ripe apples and falling yellow leaves. She watched the puffs of blue and white clouds drift in the sky, her throat tightening. She wished she could bring Devon up here. He would climb up beside her to see the fields of buckwheat and groves of apple and nut trees. He would appreciate this magnificent view from the top of the apple tree. Sighing, Cassie moved to the next branch, shaking the tree violently. What would be, would be. She hadn't given up yet; she still saw a chance to be with the man she loved. She was still married to him, whether he spoke to her in the rations line or not, and that was in her favor.
Cassie stood to the rear of the ranks, listening to Colonel Haslet's orders. A barefooted man just ahead of her caught her eye and she wiggled her toes in her riding boots, whispering a prayer of thanks for the present Devon had given her back in August. Her heart went out to the men without cloaks and watering tins; and now with the coming of winter they were appearing without shoes. She did what she could for them, reminding them to keep their eyes out for any English supplies when they were fighting, but still, so many were doing without. Desertion was high and morale was often low.
Cassie shifted in her boots, leaning to catch a glimpse of Devon as Colonel Haslet went on about cleanliness in the ranks. She spotted her husband in front and to the left. He stood with his company, tall and proud in his patched coat and befeathered, cocked hat. Her eyes ran the length of his coat, and images of him bare beneath the clothing put color in Cassie's cheeks. She licked her dry lips. He was thinnner than when she'd first met him. He turned his head every so slightly to speak to his sergeant and she caught a glimpse of his face. It was lined with worry, but hard with determination. This was no ordinary man, she thought dryly. She had tried everything to get his attention short of stripping off her clothes and running stark naked through the camp. Even then, she guessed he'd ignore her!
Cassie groaned, cursing Devon silently. Why was he being so hardheaded? Why couldn't he admit when he was wrong? He said there was no place in the army for a woman? Hah! She had showed him. She had made friends among these men. She had tended their wounds, written letters home for those who couldn't write, and tried to be sure everyone in the Delaware Regiment got at least one meal a day.
Colonel Haslet's words suddenly brought Cassie out of her daydreaming. Orders? Lord Stirling had ordered them to march on the village of Mamaroneck. The moment the troops were dismissed, Cassie ran to the wagon she kept her belongings in. It wasn't really her wagon, it was the army's—used to transport ammunition and wounded men—but it served its purpose, holding the supplies she collected by day and giving her a place to sleep by night. Since that night she had nearly drowned, Devon had not offered to let her sleep in his tent.
When the Delaware troops moved out, with Colonel Haslet leading them, Cassie fell in behind. She kept to the rear far from Devon to be certain he didn't see her until it was too late. As odd as his behavior had been, it wouldn't have surprised her if he'd tied her to a tree to keep her from going into the battle—if he could catch her.
In the dark of night, nearly 750 men rushed the town of Marmaroneck. Light flashed in the darkness and the smell of burnt black powder became overwhelming as Cassie raced forward with the others. The enemy posts shouted warnings and loyalists swarmed from their homes, firing wildly into the night.
Cassie kept her head low, firing and reloading her Brown Bess with ease. Men swarmed, shouting and screaming as the guns sounded again and again, echoing in her ears. She dodged a man's aim and struggled to reload as he came at her with a makeshift bayonet on the end of his rifle. Ducking, she slammed him in the back of the head with her musket and h
e crumbled to the ground. Through the darkness she could see the blood staining the back of his coat and she leaned to check his pulse.
"Dead as a beer barrel." Cassie murmured. "That's what you get for trying to run me through, you bloody fool." She crouched over the dead man, running her hands through his clothing. She left the gold ring on his finger, but took his pipe, tobacco, and then his musket. A musket with a bayonet on the end was invaluable. The rebels had so few of them that commanding officers were having their men make their own from sickles and pitchforks. Straightening up, Cassie turned to go, then spun back around. Slinging both rifles over her shoulders, she grabbed a booted foot and began to tug.
Joe came running by, calling to her from the billows of black powder. "Crawlin' crickets! What're you doing, Mistress Cassie?" He spun around, fired his weapon, and was rewarded by the sound of a body hitting the hard ground.
"Boots, Joey! Our men need boots. The snow'll be blowin' here shortly. A man can't live without boots." she called after him as he disappeared into the night. Turning back to the boots, she tugged harder, cursing beneath her breath. When one black boot came loose, she leaned to get the other.
"Bloody rebel thief." a sneering voice accused from above.
Cassie raised her head slowly, spotting fine buckled shoes, clean stockings, fawn breeches, and an azure frock coat. Her eyes came to rest on the enemy's face. He held the barrel of his fine French rifle not more than a few inches from Cassie's tempie. "Traitor!" she accused venomously.
The man tipped back his head, laughing. "You infantile colonial farmers. You'll all die. Now get up!" he barked.
Cassie moved slowly, cursing herself for being so foolish as to have both of her weapons out of reach. She'd been so anxious to get the boots that she'd slung them both off her shoulders. They'd do her no good now.
"Now drop those weapons and start walking. I think we'll make an example out of you. You know what the penalty is for stealing from one of the King's dead subjects?" He pressed the barrel into the back of her dusty coat, shoving her forward. "You're going to hang, patriot." He laughed again, and before Cassie could stop him, he was knocking the cocked hat off her head.
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